


A Piping Hot Cup of the Scientific Method

by abysmallypresent (madamerosencrantz)



Category: Death Note, Death Note & Related Fandoms
Genre: Christmas, Hot Chocolate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 06:03:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9222203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madamerosencrantz/pseuds/abysmallypresent
Summary: To remind Mello of the underlying conditions behind those limitations would be easy: All necessary was a humane gesture: Hot chocolate would be the instrument of choice.  To do so would also be to remind him of insecurities, of shortcomings.  This, Near thought, Mello would reject.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was part of the Meronia Secret Exchange - I do regret saying that I absolutely suck because I misremembered the deadline and finished after the exchange date. This fic is for areiie on tumblr, to whom I can't apologize enough for not getting to in time. The prompts were drinking hot chocolate together and Whammy's shenanigans.

i. Formulate a Question

  
Circumstances were unique. For approximately two years, circumstances had been unique. Reports of Kira and fanatics supporting Kira were widespread. The media tried to follow the proceedings of the investigation towards Kira, but new information was limited. The only information that was still certain was that a task force headed by L was still in action. Yet, circumstances had been unique. The question would become: How much longer will that force remain in action? And what would happen following when key components of that task force should fall?

Near was one bound by objectified realism. Pride and competition were true to his nature, but he did not allow them to cover. For this reason, it was not arrogance that he predicted that L’s successor would be he himself.

He was not foolish. He did not do his best work in isolation, though he was a solitary person. He rather thought that the other contender for the title. worked better in similar conditions to himself. Logically, the solution was simple. Coordination, cooperation – Call it what you will. There is strength in numbers, and the strongest mind will recognize its shortcomings. A chain is only as strong as its weakest link. There can be strength in numbers; working with Mello would be beneficial. And so the question became: Would Mello be willing to work with him?

 

 

ii. Hypothesis

  
He rather thought not, but he could create a model situation to explore the matter further.

 

 

 

iii. Prediction

  
Mello was not unpersonable. Near knew this. He was charismatic and dynamic and saturated with life, and he understood human tendency. He was secure in himself so long as he stood secure in power sculpted by intellect and accomplishment.  
In this way, Near was a threat.

  
That’s all he was; truthfully, Near rather doubted that Mello saw him as a person. And that was fine by him, though it did have its limitations; circumstances were unique and unusual.

  
To remind Mello of the underlying conditions behind those limitations would be easy: All necessary was a humane gesture: Hot chocolate would be the instrument of choice. To do so would also be to remind him of insecurities, of shortcomings. This, Near thought, Mello would reject.

 

 

 

iv. Testing

  
Mello enjoyed running. It was the one time that he could abandon frustration, abandon simmering anger that never seemed to dissipate. He hated it. When he ran, his heart beat faster for a reason other than stress. When he ran, the breeze caught his breath and offered him fresh focus, fresh insight. He enjoyed running, though these reasons he would not articulate. What he would admit, however, is that he enjoyed running because it allowed the brain to function at its best; it was only logical.

  
Mello preferred running to soccer. The strategy behind the game he enjoyed. However, the teamwork wasn’t his forte; he didn’t like it well enough to bother to try to improve upon it. Regardless, it was good exercise – Even if the outside air was frigid, and even if the grass was damp. It was good exercise, even if he trudged back into the orphanage with cheeks pink from cold and clammy from sweat. It was worth it. He always felt relatively better after running, though he would never show it. He was always closer to smiling than he had been before, and stress didn’t seem to weigh so heavy on his shoulders. Perhaps it was for this reason that, as he pushed his way into Whammy’s through the back door, he didn’t think anything of Near being there. He thought even less about Near’s pressing a ceramic mug into his palm; he felt some relief from its emitted warmth on his numb fingertips, but he was quickly distracted by sudden conversation from a passerby; the rest of those who had suffered with him in the cold air had made their entrance, and so they bustled in and created white noise with their chatter. perspective. The mug of hot chocolate was abandoned and forgotten on the counter. Near poured it down the drain.

 

 

The second time Near approached Mello was perhaps poor timing. Classes had ended days before, and final grades had just come out; thus, rankings had been inferred. Nothing had changed. Near stood at the top of the rankings, and he was indifferent. Matt lingered as third in the rankings; he too seemed indifferent. Mello was the only one reacted so visibly to his ranking; to be second grated on him and encouraged him to push himself further, to try harder. Thus, despite the lull of new academic work, Mello worked. In part, he worked on a winter project, due at the end of the winter break. In part, he reviewed old material and introduced himself to new. He worked with bowed head over wood table, with hair falling before his eyes. The lead of his pencil marked papers with perhaps too much force. He worked despite the electronic music and noises that floated over to him from Matt’s seat at the table, directly opposite him. They sat undisturbed for hours. More than once, Mello found himself staring at the other for minutes at a time, hoping that Matt would just get the message and mute the damn thing.

  
He didn’t.

  
From the edge of his vision, Mello saw Near enter the room and gritted his teeth. With exaggerated focus, he turned his attention back to penciled notes. Arguably, it was not the act of being second that agitated him; rather, it was the idea of being second to someone. Again, he looked up and kicked his companion’s shoe lightly beneath the table. “Shut it up, would you?” Tinted green met his gaze for half a second and turned the volume down a notch. Mello raised an eyebrow and kicked the other again without force. “Come on, man,” he spoke again and interrupted himself with the realization that Near was there. Mello’s greeting was harsh: “ _What?_ ” Neatly Near set a familiar mug at the center of the table. Mello tensed. Despite the simplicity of the action, he thought that the cool gleam to the other’s eye was calculated. “Joining us?” Mello prompted further with a sarcastic lilt to his voice.

  
“Enjoy your drink.”

  
“My drink?”

  
This Near chose not to dignify with an answer; often times, in casual conversation he only replied to that which he thought demanded a response. Otherwise, he believed that silence was more than adequate a response.“What are you playing at, Near?” Mello spoke through pursed lips. By now he had readjusted himself in his chair so that he faced Near directly. Although his books lay abandoned, his pencil still rested between his fingers. Mello began to drum the pencil against the back of the chair without thought.

  
Near blinked and tilted his head slightly for a better view of the forgotten literature. “Mello is reviewing game theory?”

  
Without looking, Mello slammed the cover of the book shut. The force of the motion produced an air current that sent a page of his loose-leaf notes fluttering to the floor. He winced slightly but made no move to retrieve the papers until Near stooped slightly. With fingers, he resettled the papers back onto the table; they crinkled slightly. “You here to gloat?” Arrogant though he thought Near to be, this was different.

  
It was at this time Near thought absently that this approach was, perhaps, poor timing. “I’m here to give you the hot chocolate. That’s it.”

  
“Forget the hot chocolate!” Frustration manifested itself with the sudden gesticulation of wide spread arms. In the process, the back of Mello’s wrist hit the ceramic mug force with some force; when it tipped, Mello wasn’t entirely sure whether or not he had intended to spill the drink or not.

  
Hot chocolate painted the corners of the papers he had just rescued from the floor. It dripped with excitement from the table. It splattered upon and stained white fabric. Mello stared. The electronic music of Matt’s game still played, as its owner swore; the drink had had begun to seep into his lap as well.  
Near nodded slowly, as though he were making a note to himself. “The hot chocolate is forgotten.”

 

 

 

v. Analysis  
Date: Christmas Eve

  
Although Near was never loud, he was not silent; he couldn’t be. When he walked, Mello could hear the slight rustle of loose clothing, the shuffle of socks over carpeting, the faint inevitable creak of hardwood floor. It was this faint cadence that made him aware of the other’s presence before he saw him. Mello blinked once at literature before him before spinning in his seat to regard Near, holding the fated plain mug between pale fingers. This was the final attempt, the third attempt.“What? Just hand it over, if that’ll get you out of here.”

  
“I have decided to report my findings to Mello,” he began. His gaze fell and lingered on a dusty rosary on the desk, propped against the wall. “Perhaps he will regard it as a Christmas gift of sorts.” Mello’s eyes narrowed; he folded his arms across his chest.

  
Near drank from the mug. For a minute, for two minutes – Mello watched him with a raised brow, waiting for him to complete the thought he had he had begun. Yet, there was nothing. And so he had snorted slightly and relented, spinning in his chair to stare with brisk determination at the papers before him once more. He resolved himself to ignore the other’s presence. This resolution was broken, however, when the mug slid into his vision on his desk. Its rim was stained with chocolate and melted marshmallow, and it was empty. When Mello looked around again, Near was sitting with crossed legs on the ground before him.

  
“I expect you had something more to offer beside dirty dishes?” He spoke with clipped tones and still narrowed eyes. Near was again unfazed.

  
“I found that Mello mistrusts peace. I offered you an olive branch under three circumstances,” he began. Abruptly, Mello stood.

  
“Bullshit. That’s bullshit,” he interrupted. “You conducted a social experiment. I allowed it. And you know that – If you want to talk in terms of science, then you know that this experiment wasn’t blind. It’s not valid. Your findings are not valid. And you can’t offer an ‘olive branch’ if it’s not sincere. You should also know that.”

  
Near merely blinked. “I conducted a social experiment. I accounted for this mitigating circumstances – I believe that you mistrust peace. I believe that you cannot truthfully disagree with such, though you might disagree with the method by which that conclusion was reached. More so than that, however, I have arrived at the conclusion Mello does not seek any resolution with me. It is not a matter of whether Mello is able to or not, but it is a matter of his wanting to do so.” Stoicism layered into his voice with mildness, and a finger laced itself into his hair. He wrapped a lock of hair around his finger once, then twice, then three times before he let it unravel.

  
Mello sat again; he reached without thought for the mug on the desk. Only after holding it with both hands and raising it to his lips did he remember that it was empty; he scowled. “That’s quite a stretch. To make that conclusion after a half-assed experiment.” His scowl deepened further as he stared pointedly into the empty mug for a moment more before he hastily replaced the mug on the desk.

  
“I think that L will die soon.”

  
“I think that you need to shut the hell up.”

  
Near hummed slightly, briefly; it was enough. Enough for Mello to feel condescension that, perhaps, was a mirage; his behavior, his response was too much, was too emotional to allow for objective problem solving. This was the light that cast him in a secondary shadow. He backtracked, “I’m not saying it isn’t possible. I don’t necessarily think it’s more likely that Kira will win, but it’s – “It’s not necessarily something he wants consider at that moment. He glowered.  
“If L should die soon, Mello remember that, I am not unwilling to coordinate,” Although Near spoke mildly still, his voice was firm. He bowed his head slightly and continued. “That is Mello’s decision. Yet if he cannot do so much as accept a cup of hot chocolate, then Mello has much, or very little, to consider.” The lock of hair sprung free from his finger; he opted instead to stand and to retreat towards the cracked door. “Merry Christmas,” Near concluded easily. Light from the hallway illuminated irrefutable indifference on the younger boy’s face. Grey eyes bore into blue blandly for a prolonged moment, broken only by the faint smirk that turned at Near’s lips. Then the door closed. It was dark but for his desk lamp. Mello scowled.

 

 

 

vi. Discussion  
Date: Christmas Day

  
On Christmas Day, there is very often a lull. The younger children wake early and expend all of their energy on morning festivities. Then, they crash. For this reason and for this reason alone, Whammy’s was still. Still, life saturated the hall with glinting silver tinsel and multicolored lights. Homemade decorations lined the windows, and unwatched Christmas specials played quietly from the television.

  
Near occupied himself with a puzzle. With little hesitation, he slotted piece and piece together and established a rhythm. You need a transition here. Mello sat before him. Again, he was scowling. Near rather thought that it was quite likely that the other’s expression had not changed since the previous night. “Merry Christmas,” he spoke without looking up. Another puzzle piece fit into place, and suddenly there was a cup of hot chocolate directly before his face.  
Mello retracted his hand slightly, but he held the cup out stubbornly. “First of all, merry Christmas,” he answered stiffly. “Secondly, fuck you.” Here he nodded pointedly towards the mug; Near obliged and accepted the mug. Mello rubbed his palms together and started again, “You’re really weird around the holidays, mind.” Distractedly, he resumed Near’s work on the puzzle with an easy rhythm. “But. . . I can do anything I want. I am able to do whatever I want. It might take more time, and it might not look like I’m coming out on top –“ He pressed a puzzle piece forcefully into its slot. “But I am . . . And I always will be . . . a significant player.”

  
“I believe Mello,” came the calm reply. Near took a sip from the hot chocolate and waited.

  
Pausing for a moment in his speech, Mello made a face. “Even if – if – L dies. Even if I’m not named as his successor. Don’t patronize me. Don’t push responsibility of resolution on me when there’s nothing to be responsible for. It isn’t necessary or helpful when we’re competitors -”  
“Mello competes against himself.”

  
In a momentary impulse of childish spite, Mello scrambled half of the puzzle pieces and proceeded as though he had not been interrupted. “When we’re not competitors, and if it’s beneficial, then I’ll seek ‘resolution’ with you. Whatever that means.”

  
After a moment of consideration, Near offered Mello the half empty hot chocolate. “Mello is prideful,” he stated simply; frowning still, the latter took the drink again in response to the hinted challenge. He drew a knee up to his chest and began to fix the damage to the puzzle. “Drink it. It’s beneficial to you in some light, I’m sure – One way or another, you could concoct a reason why it would be beneficiary for you to drink. Things aren’t the way they are just because. There are reasons from which conclusions and decisions can be drawn.” His brow furrowed slightly, and he skimmed his fingers over the surface of scattered white puzzle pieces. “That is to say, that is up to Mello to decide. Not circumstance. And Mello is prideful,” he repeated mildly.

  
Mello swore beneath his breath and drank. “Jesus, you overcomplicate things. For all you know, I might not have liked the way you made hot chocolate. It’s an art.” He broke off when he felt Near’s eyes on him. “Maybe that wasn’t the reason, but it’s still perfectly valid and not one that you had cause to eliminate.”

  
“I had enough to reason to eliminate it as a primary factor. I know Mello better than he knows me. “

  
Mello interrupted, “Saying shit like that is why you don’t make friends, you know.”

  
Near continued without pause, “Mello is welcome to caricaturize me as he does. It makes no difference to me. However, when there comes a time that benefits of coordinating with me become reality, then I recommend that he does not focus solely on his caricature to recognize those benefits or lack of. That’s Mello’s responsibility.” He concluded with finality.

  
Only after he had fixed most of the damage to the puzzle did he speak again. The same smug smile hinted at his lips before he even opened his mouth, and Mello interjected quickly. “Shut up. Don’t say it again – Merry fucking Christmas.” Frowning, he took a final sip of the now tepid hot chocolate and set it atop the puzzle before standing hastily. “You don’t make sense, you know.”

  
“Merry Christmas, Mello.”


End file.
